


shut up and dance

by zigsexual (anythingbutloud)



Category: The Royal Romance (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, background driam discussion bc is it really my trr fic without those two idiots somehow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23880106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythingbutloud/pseuds/zigsexual
Summary: the story according to riley and maxwell, circa one engagement tour trip to new york.
Relationships: Liam/Drake Walker, Maxwell Beaumont/Main Character (The Royal Romance)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	shut up and dance

**Author's Note:**

> this is a little quarantine goodie from my WIPs that i’m posting for yall per your requests!! tbh as i read it over just now it occurred to me this thing is basically finished so i guess it can stand on its own merit even if it did come from the ‘in progress’ bin. anyway the thought behind this is that it’s just the maxwell/mc side of the later vignettes (so like, around ‘back in the water’ time-wise). i miss these two and writing them made me SAD because they used to be the fucking best in canon. sigh.

“It’s weird though, isn’t it?” Riley says, calling over the curtain of the changing area in what she hopes is Maxwell’s direction. The seamstress at her side clucks in annoyance, sticking a pin in her waist a little too close for comfort. “Like, what in god’s name was he doing at a jewelry store of all places?”

“No, it’s _definitely_ weird,” Maxwell’s voice floats back, only slightly muffled by the barrier between them. “Even for Drake. And he truly has his own bar for weirdness.”

“I’ll never understand him, I guess,” she sighs, wincing slightly as the woman pokes at her again. “Of all the people to contain multitudes, I wouldn’t have predicted Drake.”

“Done,” says a voice next to her, and then hands are on her hips, turning her so as to check the silhouette of the dress in the mirror. Riley looks at herself, draped in white like a beleaguered bride, and frowns.

Maxwell calls out, the ever-present joy in his voice at least somewhat encouraging. “Don’t keep the crowd waiting!”

She pulls back the curtain unceremoniously, raising her other hand and emerging with a half-hearted twirl. “Ta da! One frosted cupcake, at your service.”

“Oh, Riley,” Maxwell is leaning against the full-length mirror set just off from the dais at the center of the room, clearly no stranger to the backstage of a fashion show. “You’re stunning.”

She feels the heat rise in her cheeks, looks away from him towards the mirror. “The dress is stunning.”

He appears in her reflection, standing at her side now, and rests a hand on her shoulder as if to steer her towards understanding. “Sure,” he says, “but you’re the reason why.”

She’s not sure what to say, not sure how to combat the mottled red that’s visible at her neck now. Thankfully, Maxwell turns away, cheerfully finalizing details with the tailor and leaving her to look at herself. The blush is such a contrast to the white of the dress, a visible shame leaving its mark, and she lifts a hand to her chest to cover it.

Out on the sidewalk, back in her normal clothes, the dress now bundled in a garment bag to be shipped to their hotel, Maxwell says, “You know I’m skeptical about American designers, but I really think we nailed it with this one. The UN won’t know what hit them.”

“I hardly think the UN will be concerned with what I’m wearing.” 

“Why wouldn’t they? You’re the woman of the hour, after all.”

They fall in step together, walking back to the hotel instead of catching a cab. She’d been the one to request it, eager for a chance to feel at home in her city again. Now, with this… _feeling_ in the pit of her stomach, she wishes she’d just opted for the car.

Maxwell’s voice pulls her back to the present. “You don’t seem excited.”

“Don’t I?” She bites the inside of her cheek. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m not.”

“Are you still thinking about the Drake thing?” he asks, bumping his shoulder against hers as they walk. “Maybe he’s covering, and he’s actually buying something for Olivia.”

Riley snorts. “Oh please, those two in a secret affair? She’s got to have more taste than that.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“Well, now that you mention it,” she ventures, “I sort of got the feeling… ah, listen, this is going to sound weird. Well — actually, fuck it, the whole thing is weird. I got the feeling maybe it was sort of… romantic?”

Maxwell’s expression doesn’t change, which is suspicious. He _lives_ for gossip. “Romantic?”

“Yeah.” She purses her lips. “And I’m not saying it _absolutely_ was, but… I don’t know. You ever get the feeling that Drake might… y’know.”

Blank face yet again. “Might what?”

“Oh, Jesus,” She turns to face him, staring him down with one eyebrow deliberately arched. “Maxwell, come on. Drake’s got this whole star-crossed woe-is-me unrequited love thing with Liam, and there’s no _way_ you haven’t noticed. Stop playing coy.”

“I’m not playing coy,” Maxwell says coyly. 

She rolls her eyes at him. 

“Okay, fine,” he relents, “Yes. Maybe I have knowledge of this.”

“ _Knowledge_?”

“But — but! I am nothing if not discreet! You’ve seen what happens when I accidentally air out the Walker family’s dirty laundry, and we are _not_ going there again —”

Riley grins, somewhat maniacally. “Wait, for real? Are you confirming this? Drake genuinely wants to get dicked down by the King of Cordonia?”

“Well, he probably wouldn’t phrase it like that.”

“Oh my god,” she shrieks, grabbing his arm. “How could you not tell me this? I can’t _believe_ you! This is the fucking _best_ drama in the history of drama and you seriously made me figure it out myself? Unfor _give_ able, Beaumont.”

“Because they’re insufferable,” Maxwell makes a face. “Trust me, if you’d seen what I’ve seen, you wouldn’t want to spend another second thinking about it, much less speaking it into existence again.”

Riley abruptly stops walking, and when Maxwell turns back to shoot her a questioning glance, she grabs his other arm and hauls him close.

“Maxwell Beaumont,” she says, voice low, “You said ‘they.’”

“Did I?” He widens his eyes, putting on a veneer of innocence that would fool anyone but her.

“I fucking hate you,” Riley hisses, even as she bites her lip to contain a grin that still glitters in her eyes, “All along, you had secret insider info that Drake not only has a fat crush on Liam, but that Liam _reciprocates_?!”

“Reciprocat _ed_ ,” Maxwell corrects. “You know I don’t spread outdated gossip; it’s gauche.”

“Jesus.” Riley lets go of him, runs a hand through her hair. This time, it’s Maxwell’s turn to grab her, clutching desperately at her elbow. 

“You can’t tell them I told you. Drake will end me.” He’s speaking in a stage whisper, some ode to the general secrecy of the topic at hand. She can tell though, despite his attempts to seem serious, he’s secretly a little thrilled to let her in on this too. “Also, to be fair, I didn’t _really_ tell you.”

“I seriously can’t believe you.” She shakes her head slowly. “This kind of betrayal is monumental. How long have you known? No, wait, don’t tell me — it’ll just piss me off more.” 

“Let me make it up to you,” Maxwell pleads, all overdramatic and big blue eyes, making her laugh immediately and swat at his shoulder. “Aw, Riley, come on! How many pastries will fix this? Or will you accept bribery in the form of old pictures of Bertrand as a teenager? I have so many awful ones, just take your pick, digital or analog.”

“All of the above, please,” she replies, lifting her chin in a mocking attempt at haughtiness. “I also accept checks.”

Maxwell loops his arm through hers. “As you wish.”

She smiles, feeling him close at her side again. Her mind falls back to the camping trip they’d taken a few weeks prior, when she snuck into his tent and fell asleep on his chest and yet he acted like nothing had changed between them at all. As everyone had helped pack up the next morning, she’d watched him dismantle a tent with Liam and wondered if she’d just imagined the whole thing.

The memory hurts, like the jab of a pin from a seamstress who should never have been trusted to sew up a heart. She tightens her hold on Maxwell’s arm, attempts to change the subject to distract herself.

“You know, this explains so much, the Drake and Liam stuff. I mean, there’s the jewelry store. The burgeoning alcoholism. His unprompted hatred of me.” She pauses, lost in thought for a moment, before looking back up at Maxwell hopefully. “Do you think it might still be a thing? You know the two of them better than I do; do you think Liam wouldn’t pick another suitor after all?”

Maxwell shrugs, and his ambivalence makes her heart drop. “There’s still Madeleine to consider, and although I’m sure we’ll all figure out a way to get Liam out of that one, I don’t know that it matters either way. He doesn’t need to pick a suitor, he already has— he’s got you.”

Her smile wavers. “I mean, but he hasn’t picked me.”

Maxwell laughs, pulling her back in step with him. “Enough with the faux modesty, you budding Queen.”

“He hasn’t picked me,” she repeats, voice smaller this time. “He hasn’t asked.”

“But he will!”

“And what if…” She feels her chest tighten, can’t believe she’s saying this. “What if I say no?”

Now it’s Maxwell’s turn to pause, turning his head to shoot her a quizzical look. “ _No_?”

Riley bites her lip. “Max, do you remember when we went horseback riding with everyone for that ridiculous royal hunt? And I told you that… maybe, there might be someone else?”

He doesn’t say anything, eyes searching her face for an answer she isn’t quite ready to provide. It’s the first time in a while that she’s seen him let his guard down, and there’s almost a flicker of fear in his face, but he slips back into a crooked smile only a second later. “It’s a good thing there’s not, then, right?”

She just looks at him, at a loss for words in the most painful way. The worst part is that he doesn’t say anything either, just holds her gaze, his smile wavering only slightly.

Seconds pass in silence, and still she has nothing to offer. To say anything affirmative would be a lie, one she’d be comfortable telling to anyone but him. But a nudge in the direction of the truth? She can’t.

He lets go of her arm, shoves his hand in his pocket instead. And then, he answers his own question, voice quiet and uncharacteristically hollow. “Right.”

—

Barely a minute after leaving her conversation with Liam, she corners Maxwell away from the other partygoers, dragging him behind an ornate pillar in an attempt to catch some semblance of privacy. “Can we get out of here for a few minutes? I can’t stand it any longer.”

He doesn’t seem too bewildered by her sudden appearance, nor by her request. He knows her well enough now, after all. “Where do you want to go?”

She frowns, biting at the corner of one perfectly manicured nail. The dress, in all its flowy elegance, is far too noticeable (and expensive) to take beyond the party. And yet, if she stays in this ballroom one more second, she’s going to scream.

Maxwell seems to guess at her thoughts, and swoops in with an answer as usual. “Have you seen the rooftop?”

When they finally make it out of the elevator, she can feel the tension of the crowd below already easing out of her body. She sighs, audibly, and Maxwell glances over at the sound.

“What’s bothering you?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She shrugs, wandering out ahead of him. “The same old shit. I’m tired of being treated like a slut by the entire world.”

“I’m sorry,” he offers. When she turns back to look at him, he’s standing there gazing out at her, one hand rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck, like he doesn’t quite know how to fix her problem, but he’s desperately trying. Her heart melts a bit.

“It’s nothing for you to be sorry for,” she assures him. “I’m just a mess. I’m such a fucking mess, Max.”

“Hey,” he says, smiling in that easy way he does, heart-wrenchingly earnest. “I think you’re beautiful.”

He doesn’t seem to realize the effect his words have on her. In fact, he turns out towards the skyline, making his way slowly over to the railing, head tilted up towards the stars.

She watches him, and it’s as though she’s experienced some earth-shattering event, some cataclysmic shift in the universe, and everything around her has changed irrevocably, but the reality is that nothing has changed at all. Everything is exactly the same, and maybe that’s the scariest part of it, because that means she really _had_ felt this way all along. 

Maxwell is talking, something about the decor and the view, but she can’t focus on the words. Instead she just looks at him — marvels at him, really — enchanted by his presence. The way his smile dimples into his cheeks, the dark blue of his eyes, how he never seems to stand still, always humming with energy. She sweeps her gaze across his face with a slow reverence, realizing all at once the way he makes her cheeks hot and her heart warm. 

It feels safe, being out here with him; safe and cozy and a little bit like home. It’s a startling understanding: perhaps the odd sense of comfort she’s been feeling lately has nothing to do with her return to New York, and everything to do with Maxwell. 

Sure, there’s always been a pang of something like teenage butterflies with Liam — he’s a handsome prince, after all — but it had never compared to this. She can’t quite explain it, but the feeling is both painful and euphoric: pain that she can’t possibly know every crevice of his mind, and euphoria that she should even have the chance to know some of it. She almost wishes she could wrap herself up inside his thoughts and just listen, learning all the secret parts of him until there’s no one alive who knows him better. 

She’s in love with him. 

He looks back at her, finally seeming to realize she’s been quiet for ages now. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to take you up here and ramble on about boring things. Should we head back to the party?”

She shakes her head. “No, let’s stay.” Without really thinking, she steps in against him and threads her arm through his. “Keep talking.”

“About what?”

“Anything,” she rests her head on his shoulder, feels the way he tenses in surprise before slowly relaxing. “I just like hearing your voice.”

“Oh.” He seems caught off guard, but he barrels ahead anyway, always the cheerful one. “Well, okay. Did I tell you about how I’ve potentially ruined our foreign relations with no less than three countries tonight?”

And he talks, soothing her frazzled nerves, warm against her side. She tilts her head up to look at him, and suddenly she can’t shake the fact that he’s maybe the most beautiful boy she’s ever seen. 

“What?” He says, stopping midway through his story. “Is it boring again?”

“No, it’s…” She turns away from him, frowns. “Do you know you’re always putting yourself down?”

“Is… is that a rhetorical question?” When she looks back, he’s got his head cocked to the side curiously, hands fidgeting in front of him. 

“Every time I look at you, you seem to be apologizing for your presence,” she says. “Don’t you ever think maybe this is where I want to be?”

He cracks a smile, deflecting. “A cold rooftop?”

“No,” she shakes her head, turning so she’s fully facing him. “With you.”

She can’t quite read his expression. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but then he offers up a bashful shrug, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Thanks, that’s… well, thank you. Not everyone would agree.”

“You’re doing it again.” 

He rubs at the back of his neck. “Force of habit. Compliments make me uncomfortable.”

“Why?”

“Just… not used to them.” This time his smile is sad.

“Well, let’s change that,” she says, “Because you’re important to me. And I don’t want you out here thinking I let just _anyone_ be important to me.”

Her heart swells at the way his eyes light up at her words, even if the rest of him stays stoic. “Can’t have me reflecting badly on you, might ruin your chances.”

She can’t tear her eyes from his. “Of what?”

“Of what?” He laughs. “Why do you think we’re here?”

Ah. Liam. She worries her lower lip between her teeth. 

“I told you,” she says softly, reaching out and touching his arm, resting her fingers atop his suit jacket, “I’m here for you.”

He’s confused, the sweet boy — watching her with a quirk in his eyebrow. Here she is, her heart in her hands, and he still can’t accept the truth laid bare in front of him, just like he can’t accept a compliment. 

“You’re a good friend,” he tries, “The best, really. My best friend.”

“You’re mine too,” she says, trailing her hand down his arm until she can finally twist her fingers with his. “But you know what I’m saying.”

God, she loves him. She can’t help thinking how terribly handsome he looks, how much she wants to run her hands through his messy hair and kiss the confusion off his face. Her Maxwell, her stupid wonderful boy. 

“Ah… can I phone a friend?” he says, even as his cheeks begin to flush. “I’m not… I mean…”

“No, Maxwell, listen,” she says, tears involuntarily pricking at the edges of her vision, “it’s you.”

He looks a bit bewildered. “What did I do now? I can fix it, whatever it was.”

She laughs, and then the tears spill over and she rubs a hand roughly over her cheeks, trying to keep them at bay. “No, that’s not it. What I’m trying to say… listen, it was never Liam. Or, I don’t know, maybe I thought it was for a few days, until the stars left my eyes. But after that, every day since…” She lifts one shoulder in a sheepish shrug, smiling even as another tear slips out. “It’s you. It’s always been you. You’ve carried me through all of this, whether you knew it or not. You’ve been the only constant good in my life since all of this started. Liam, Drake, Hana… we’re friends, sure, but they weren’t there at the airport when everything was falling apart. They weren’t literally getting me out of bed for _months_ afterwards, when no one else would even be seen with me. They weren’t running through alleyways in Italy with me to track down even the tiniest leads to prove me innocent. They weren’t you. Nobody could be. You put me above all the bullshit — the pretenses, the duty — and not just me, but _everyone_ : Savannah and Bertrand and Liam and even Drake. You treat your friends like the most precious things in the world, because you have such a good heart, Maxwell.” 

At this, she squeezes his hand, surprised to find her fingers shaking. His expression is impossible to read, but she offers him a shaky, albeit hopeful, smile. “You’re noble in the truest sense of the word, in the way that actually matters. So yeah, of course I want you. Falling for you… it was only a matter of time.”

He’s quiet, eyes wide, looking out at her with every emotion spelled out across his face: confusion, realization…. and?

“Please say something,” she manages, the tears coming liberally now. She’s opened a floodgate and nothing will stop it. “Please, before I regret everything.”

“Riley,” he says softly, reaching out to take her other hand in his, “Don’t cry.”

She can’t help it, she’s a blubbering mess now, and she falls into him like a child, clinging to him as she sobs into his shoulder. He rubs her back, slow soothing circles, and she can hear his voice in his chest even though she has no idea what he’s saying. 

She’s not sure why she can’t stop crying. It’s as though the last few months have finally caught up to her: the anxiety, the expectations, the loneliness, the doubts. Suddenly it’s all she can do to hold on to the one person who has always been her anchor, her solid ground. For all she knows, now that she’s said her piece, it may be the last time she ever has him to hold. 

“Riley,” he’s saying, low and gentle, and her name in his voice is the most necessary sound. “Shh, hey, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”

She lifts her head, cheeks wet, and his eyes meet hers with a tenderness that’s impossible to ignore. 

“Riley…” he says again, his voice catching. 

She kisses him with salty lips, pressing up on her toes, and she hears his sharp inhale before his hands come up to cradle her face. He touches her like she’s too delicate to hold, as though any wrong move will shatter the moment like glass. He touches her like she is the most precious thing in the world. 

She tightens her arms around him, as if to prove him wrong and right in the same movement, her lips flush as they meet with his. She can tell when he finally accepts that she’s real — that _this_ is real — because he slips one hand into her hair and pulls her closer. She can feel his fingers tangling the strands of her braid, reckless in a way he’s never been with her. Maybe she should have known, all along; he’d been careful with her like he was with nothing else, with no one else. 

They break apart slowly, breathing heavy, still holding one another close. Riley rests against his forehead, eyes shut, feeling the beating of his heart beneath her fingers. When he speaks, she can feel that, too. 

“Riley,” he whispers, and she never wants him to stop saying it, her name in his mouth the sweetest thing she’s ever heard. “It’s just… I never thought… I mean, I never even let myself _consider_ …”

He pulls back from her enough to look at her, his eyes sweeping across her face with a nervousness that shows in the way he bites at the corner of his lip. She blinks up at him, head held high. 

“Are you sure?” He whispers, voice alight with something close to wonder. Wonder, that she might think to choose him. That he would even be a choice at all. 

“Surer than anything,” she says, a smile breaking across her face. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Maxwell Beaumont.”

His face finally gives way to a smile, so bright it glitters in his eyes. She can feel his shoulders relax, a tension she didn’t know he’d been carrying slipping away at her words. 

“I think you’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met,” he answers, dropping his hands down to take both of hers again. “I never thought someone like you would want to be around me. I’m… I never get things right.”

She squeezes his hands, offering up a smile of her own. “On the contrary, I think you’re the only one who ever gets it right.”

He kisses her this time, the most perfect kiss she’s ever known, and before long they’re laughing against each other’s lips, fingers laced together tight. 

“You’ve got no idea,” Riley says, feeling like her cheeks might split from her grin. “I’ve been waiting and waiting for all of this to make sense, and right now, it’s like… I finally feel like I’m home. And not just because this is New York. I’d feel like this anywhere, as long as you’re there too.”

He nods, and she thinks she catches a glimmer in his eye before he blinks it away. “I didn’t realize just how lonely I’d gotten until I met you. I guess I had started to believe all the things people said I was.” He lets go of her hand so he can reach up to her face, tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, let his touch linger. “You changed everything for me. I can’t believe… I mean, you’re really sure?”

She shakes her head, still grinning like a fool. “Why don’t you kiss me again and see?”

And so, if maybe she spends the next fifteen minutes making out with Maxwell Beaumont on a roof far above a UN party she’s supposed to be attending for the benefit of a king… who’s to say? Perhaps the rumors are true. Perhaps she _is_ a terrific strumpet who spurned the affections of a royal for someone quite unassuming. Perhaps she doesn’t mind.

—

Maxwell has been oddly evasive of her since the night before, always ready with a new excuse as to why they can’t be alone together. It hurts, if she’s being honest; she’d been under the impression that they’d laid all their cards on the table at this point. Apparently he hadn’t yet played his full hand. 

They grab breakfast together, like usual, ordering too much food in a café across the street from the hotel. Pancakes and eggs and bacon, whipped cream and piles of sugared fruit. Bertrand always chastised them not to eat like children, which only made Riley more determined to enjoy her homestyle comforts. Plus, breakfast is Maxwell’s favorite meal, and so is hers.

She watches him when he talks, fork sliding aimlessly across her plate, barely able to focus on what he’s saying. She’d been ready to crawl right into his bed after the UN ball, and he’d merely kissed her cheek in the elevator and told her goodnight. As if the rooftop had been nothing. 

There’s no way she could’ve misconstrued it though, right? He’d told her he wanted her, and they’d kissed through an entire symphony of waltzes below. No chance she had it wrong.

“Hey,” she interrupts him, poking her fork in his direction. “Are we good?”

He cocks his head slightly, giving her a confused smile. “As opposed to bad?”

“No, as opposed to ‘filled with deep regret and shame over the events of last night.’”

He glances down at his plate. “Oh. That.”

Riley stabs a piece of french toast, swirling it in syrup with no intention of actually bringing it to her lips. “So…?”

When she looks back up at him, she’s surprised to see the beginnings of a blush across his cheeks. It’s cute. He’s cute. 

“Trust me, that’s… that’s not at _all_ the concern.” His eyes meet hers, reassuringly vulnerable.

“But there _is_ a concern.”

“Sort of.” He frowns down at his plate. “But it’s me. It’s got nothing to do with you, Riley — you’re perfect. Last night, on the roof, that was probably the single greatest moment of my life.”

She reaches across the table, rests her hand atop his. “Me too.”

He glances up at her with a smile. “I guess I’m the one who’s really a mess, out of the two of us.”

“You’re not,” she says, squeezing his hand. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You and your mess are my favorite part of every day.”

His smile softens, the blush returning. “Aw, thanks.”

She nods. “So what’s in your head? What’s making you worry about us?”

He’s quiet for a moment, a faraway expression on his face as he thinks. She takes the opportunity to steal a blueberry off his plate. 

“I was a different person before we met,” he says finally. “And I don’t mean, like, ‘you changed me and now I’m a better man’ or anything — although, for the record, you did and that’s entirely true, but that’s another conversation altogether — I mean in the years before, I wasn’t who I am now.” He bites his lip. “Does that make sense? Sorry. I’m nervous.”

“Nervous? Never thought I’d hear you say that.” She laughs, stealing another blueberry. “Don’t worry, I follow.”

“Okay. Well, um, I guess it was kind of like, after my dad… it was hard. Obviously. Bertrand was going through it with the estate, and I was lonely, and I sort of went through… I guess you could call it a ‘slutty phase.’”

Riley raises an eyebrow, not managing to stifle her surprised laughter in time. “Maxwell _Beaumont_! Oh, I wish I had known you then.”

He cracks a smile, but it fades quickly. “No, trust me, you really don’t. The way Bertrand treats me now, I think it’s because he always thinks of me as the person I was then.” He sighs, lacing his fingers through hers, then slowly lifting his eyes to her face. There’s a sadness in them that makes her heart ache. “I don’t want to be that person again. When everything happened with Savannah, I think it was a wakeup call for me of the path I could be headed down. Like, actions have consequences, and playing with people’s feelings always ends up hurting someone. Even if you tell yourself it’s casual.” 

He glances back down at his plate, a small smile tilting up the corner of his mouth. “And that’s the thing with you — the way I feel about you is _so_ not casual.”

Riley offers him an encouraging one in return. “Likewise.”

He brightens, letting the smile overtake his face. “Right. So I want this to be something real. And I think, for me, that means taking it slow, because I’ve never had a relationship with someone that wasn’t built on sex. Which is — I mean, I know that’s a part of it, like, eventually, and obviously I… um, I think of you. In that way. But like, respectfully!”

Riley laughs, leaning her chin in her free hand. “I got you, Max. You think I’m a smoking hot babe and you wanna jump my bones.”

“More like _the_ smoking hot babe.”

“Of course, of course.” She nudges her knee against his under the table. “Listen though, thank you. For telling me all this. I’m glad we’re friends, and I’m so glad you trust me, and I can’t wait to do this whole ‘more than friends’ thing with you. As slow as you want.”

“Trust me, it’s not what I _want_.”

“Oh, right. Forgot about the whole hot babe situation. Well, as slow as you _need_ , then. I’ve waited my whole life for you, I don’t mind waiting a little bit longer to get your clothes off.”

He waggles his eyebrows at her. “It’s very worth it, I can promise you that.”

“Ooo, big words over here!” She grins and steals another blueberry, but then pauses, looking back up at him. “Hey, really though. Thank you. This… this is exactly the kind of relationship I want us to have. And it means so much that you would share that with me. I really want this with you, and I like you so much, and —”

He puts a finger to her lips. “Shh, I know. I got you.”

She feels such an overwhelming surge of affection for him then that it nearly brings tears to her eyes. She blinks them away quickly, pretends to bite at his finger until he pulls it back, laughing. 

“We should probably go get ready.”

“Are you done with your food?”

“Well, you ate all my blueberries.”

“Touché.”

He holds her hand on the way back up to their rooms, and it makes her feel warm and whole and special. 


End file.
